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Updated: May 8, 2025
"The burners of Olaf have long gone out of Norway, have they not?" "I was but a child when my brother was burned like a fox in his hole at Laxafiord. The burners knew my father too well to bide at home and welcome him; and since then no man has told aught of them, save that Thord the Tall at one time raided much in England, and boasted widely of the burning.
"Helgi, he had hardly begun ere I knew the end, and could name my warning voice. The tale was the burning of Laxafiord, and the voice was my brother Olaf's." "And the hermit?" "Is Thord the Tall, the last of the burners." "Is! Then you slew him not?" "My dagger was drawn, I was bending towards him, when I heard without the steps of Osla. I fled ask me not what I thought or what I did.
"Ay, to-night," he said. "But before we part you must hear of one deed that haunts me even now, though they were but heathens whom I slew." "The burning at Laxafiord?" she whispered. "Who has not heard of that burning?" he cried. "The flames leapt higher than the pine trees, the women shrieked I hear them now!" He paused, and she pressed his hand the tighter. "Father!" she said softly, "father!"
With the same grim reminiscent pleasure, he went on: "I and two others sent the cloven arrow through the dales, and gathered armed men enough to fill three ships. Ay, the sailing of Thord the Tall, Snaekol Gunnarson, and Thorfin of Skapstead is not forgotten yet in Norway. We went to Laxafiord, for there dwelt Olaf, son of Hakon.
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